


Love You Well

by Demibel



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Because the world needs more toppy!Jehan, Erotic Poetry, Light Bondage, M/M, Toppy!Jehan, Vague kink dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demibel/pseuds/Demibel





	Love You Well

The look on his face was worth every hour pouring every last syllable, making sure it was perfect. The poem had been Jehan’s most difficult to finish to date, and he assumed it was because of the subject matter. The poet, despite his romantic heart, had never been this in love with another person in all his years, and by some miracle, Courfeyrac loved him too.

Jehan woke the morning with one specific purpose in mind; to finish the poem by supper, and then recite to his lover during dessert. And for the rest of the evening….well, that would depend on Courfeyrac’s reaction.

It was like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time as Jehan said the last few words. The dinner had been enough, with candles and wine, and a beautiful spread, but his poem was so pure and so honest, it made Courfeyrac’s heart leap into his throat. “Je t’aime, Courfeyrac.” Jehan whispered as he set the paper down shyly. Courfeyrac made no move, except reaching his arms out, fingers outstretched for the poet to fall into.

And fall into his lovers arms Jehan did. Courfeyrac peppered his face with soft kisses, along his chin, his cheekbones, the lobes of his ears, his eyelids, every where he could. “That was beautiful, just as you are, my beautiful poet. Thank you. I love you well.”

That was always what Courfeyrac said. “I love you well.” It became Jehan’s favorite phrase very quickly. He would often find ways to fit it into his poetry, or sometimes he would just write it on the edge of his notebooks, or in the dirt, and once on the wood of a desk.

An idea flickered in his mind and he nudged the side of Courf’s head with his nose. “Would you like to show me how well you love me?” His voice took on the low register that was only reserved for Courfeyrac, and he knew what it did to the other man, and like a Pavlovian response, Courfeyrac’s eyes widened and his touch stiffened. “Oui.” He whispered, pressing his lips to the side of Jehan’s head.

“Then strip and get on the bed, mon amour, and lay bare for me.” He stood calmly, and watched as his lover quickly followed his instructions. They learned early on, when they were just starting out, that Courfeyrac, while very open to anything, had a penchant for taking orders. He was a very good listener, and enjoyed the rewards, and if he disobeyed, was not opposed to the punishments either. Tonight, however, Courfeyrac planned to follow Jehan’s instructions to the letter, no matter what they were.

Jehan watched carefully, a small smirk playing about his features as Courfeyrac lay on the bed, waiting for him. Slowly, he loosened his necktie and removed his vest and shirt. He knew the anticipation was part of the game, something both he and Courfeyrac enjoyed. “You remember the word?” Coureyracf nodded, but didn’t say it. If he did, then the night was over before it began. He had chosen the word “roses” because they reminded him of Jehan, and so he would never forget it.

Jehan’s movements were slow, precise, as he walked across the room to his writing desk and pulled out a pen and his ink. Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, but said nothing otherwise. Holding the pen and ink, Jehan walked over to their bed, setting the writing tools aside for a moment to pull out the silken ties Courfeyrac had expressed an interest in. “May I?” Courfeyrac loved that about Jehan. He was so generous, and careful, and gentle in his love, and the man knew that he could put his trust in him. Courfeyrac nodded, setting his arms in a comfortable position on the headboard.

Jehan tied him down quickly and efficiently, the binds strong enough to hold, but loose enough that if Courfeyrac pulled, they wouldn’t hurt. He pressed a kiss to the inside of each wrist before pulling away to straddle the other man’s hips, and pick up his writing tools again. “You are my muse, Courfeyrac. My inspiration and my joy. All of my writing, it’s because of you.” He dipped his pen in the ink, leaning down to kiss at Courfeyrac’s neck. “Do you know what that means?”

Courfeyrac leaned his head back, allowing Jehan access to his most sensitive points. “It means you love me?” He was uncertain of the answer, not of the man’s feelings. Jehan grinned. “It means I love you. And it means, that without you, I’d have nothing to write about. And tonight, you are going to be my writing in a way no one else has ever been, nor will ever be. Not just my muse, but my canvas.” That earned him a small sound of confusion, but he straightened his back and without another word, put the inkwell down and placed the nib to Courfeyrac’s chest.

The metal was cold, and wet with ink, but sharp and present as Jehan began to write out letters on Courfeyrac’s body. “I love you well.” Four words in large, black letters stretched across Courfeyrac’s chest, the dark ink in stark contrast to his pale skin. Jehan blew softly, letting the ink dry. “You make excellent paper, my love.” Courfeyrac couldn’t help but bristle at the praise.

The evening went slowly, building in anticipation as “I love you well” was copied over and over, in every space Jehan could find. The inside of Coureyracf’s elbows, the space between his fingers, behind his ear, the length of his torso, his calves and thighs, and the crease between his rear and legs. Every inch of him was covered in the same four words, in different sizes and scripts, all in Jehan’s hand. He punctuated each line with a soft kiss, and occasionally a subtle nip or suck on the spots he knew made Courfeyrac squirm. By the time he had run out of ink, Courfeyrac was straining against his binds, panting in frustration and desperate for something more than a light touch.

Jehan slid off the bed to review his work, as every good writer must. “You are beautiful, mon cher. Look down at yourself.” He smiled as Courfeyrac obeyed, even through his desperation. “You see how well loved you are? If I could write it permanently in your skin, I would, but this will have to do. This, and this.” He stripped himself of his trousers and underwear and straddled his lover once more, grinding down against his hips, his arousal prominent at this point. “This marks you, do you understand? You are mine, my muse, on this and every other night.” He leaned down to bite at the man’s neck, under the W he had written over the man’s pulse point. He was rewarded with a soft groan and an arch of the hips that rested beneath him. “So eager for me to love you.” He murmured against the man’s skin. “So wanting. I love that about you, Courfeyrac.” He trailed his fingers down his torso, tracing the letters as he did so. “You want so hard, and you love so well, and you take so eagerly.” Long fingers curled around Courferyac’s length, earning him a hitched breath. “So lovely.” He pressed open mouthed kisses along the man’s jaw. “Would you like me to fuck you mon cher? Shall I show you further how well loved you are?” He slowly moved his hand, pumping Courfeyrac gently, pleased with the reactions he was getting.

“Please.” Came the soft reply, lips pressed against the side of his head.

He didn’t remove his hand as he reached to the bedside table. They kept a small bottle of oil for nights like this in their drawer, and Jehan’s fingers were quickly slicked. His other hand traveled between Courfeyrac’s legs, and pressed against him. Jehan leaned down to kiss the other man gently as he pushed one finger in, stretching and opening his lover in preparation. Every moan was like the sweetest song, and every hitch of Courfeyrac’s breath was made lovelier by the ink glistening on his skin. A second and a third finger were added in time, making sure Courfeyrac was ready, but Jehan thought that his moans, and the straining against the binds that held him in place might be a good indicator of how ready Courfeyrac was.

He smirked and withdrew his fingers, dipping them into the oil and slicking himself in one fluid movement. He moved Courfeyrac’s legs to rest around his waist and leaned down to kiss the other man as he pushed in slowly, savoring every inch until he was hilted.

The torture of waiting was so worth it, Courfeyrac thought as his head rolled back in pleasure, when the payoff was this good. Jehan was attentive and careful, and oh, so good to him. He arched his hips, even as his binds prevented him from doing so as much as he would like, and pressed himself as close as he could get, moaning in pleasure. “Merde, I love you so much, Jehan.” He exhaled each word.

“As I love you, my Courfeyrac.” He punctuated each word with a languid roll of his hips, his eyes fluttering shut with the motions. And then he quieted them both with a searing kiss, claiming the other man’s lips with teeth and tongue and soft groans.

He hitched Courfeyrac’s hips up, deepening the angle to brush against the man’s sweet spots. This was about him, after all. Even if Jehan was the one controlling the movements, and the actions, it was always about pleasing Courfeyrac, and showing how much he was loved.

At a particularly delicious moan, Jehan’s motions gained more purpose, his hips snapping quicker as Courfeyrac writhed beneath him. He loved this, this sight of his lover’s throat bared, his body glistening with sweat as he tried to meet Jehan’s movements, his face contorted with sweet, beautiful agony. Jehan’s hand snaked from his thigh to Courfyerac’s length, stroking him to the pace of his hips. “Will you come for me, my love? Please, let me see you….Courfeyrac.” He purred, feeling the heat of his own release pooling at the base of his spine.

On command, Courfeyrac’s whole body tightened and twitched, his climax causing him to arch off their bed and press against his Jehan. The poet wished he could capture that moment forever, the beautiful lines and angles, the feeling, and oh god, the feeling of Courfeyrac tightening around him was positively sinful and suddenly he was following his lover over that edge, spilling into him and moaning his name.

Jehan slumped over, panting in exertion, and Courfeyrac nuzzled his head against the other’s neck, matching his breath with his own sighs. “I love you well, my poet.” He murmured, flexing his fingers. The poet smiled warmly and slid up to untie the silk bonds, rubbing his wrists to take care that there were no injuries. “As I love you, my Courfeyrac.”

Courfeyrac settled into the bed, sated and content to gaze down at the writing that, though slightly smudged, was still covering his body. Jehan grinned and turned to rest at his side, tracing the words and placing his chin on his shoulder. “I wish there was some way to make that permanent.” He muttered softly.

Courfeyrac kissed the side of his head gently. “It is burned into my mind forever, love. I’ll never forget, and nor will you. You love me well.”

They fell asleep that way, wrapped up in each other as they often did. And if the sheets were smudged with ink the next day, well, that was just a more permanent reminder of how well they loved, even after the ink was washed from Courfeyrac’s skin.


End file.
